


ODed

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Drug Use, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-09
Updated: 2016-01-09
Packaged: 2018-05-12 20:18:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5679415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You’re an addict Sherlock.”<br/>“I’m a user Mycroft."</p>
            </blockquote>





	ODed

It was the summer before Uni for Sherlock, and his parents were helping him moving his stuff from his room over into suitcases. It was the week before, and both his parents were fussing with him. He needed to get out of the house. He needed to get his fix.

While his parents fussed about whether to put his old pirate hat in storage and have him bring it with him, he slipped out of the house, and walked down the path onto the main road. “Just where do you think you’re going?” Sherlock turned and saw Mycroft coming from the garden.

“I do believe, that is none of your business.” Sherlock said, his hands in his jean pockets. “You’re not my keeper Mycroft.” He turned back, and continued to walk, “I thought you weren’t suppose to be home until the day I left.”

“I wasn’t.” Mycroft made his way to keep up pace with his younger brother. “My boss let me off earlier.”

“How nice.” Sherlock said flatly. “I’m off to meet up with some blokes. Might hit a pub or two.”

“Really?” Mycroft raised an eyebrow as they came to the main road, “What’s their names?”

“His name is Sebastian. He brings some friends, and we are going out.” Sherlock shot a glance at Mycroft, “Why should you even care? It’s not like you took interest in my life ever before.” Sherlock threw up his hood, and raised his hand to call a cab.

“I’ve heard talk.” Mycroft said, “You’ve been getting into the bad crowd Sherlock. Doing the wrong things.”

“Are you afraid it might hurt your reputation at work.” Sherlock bared his teeth, “The man with the junkie brother, am I right?” A cab pulled up, “Go back and tell Mum I’ll be out.” He opened the door, and stepped in, “And stop trying to care for me. You aren’t good at it.” He closed the door, and drove off, leaving Mycroft alone.

“I will always try.” Mycroft sighed, and made his way back up the path to the house.

 

Sherlock arrived at the den, and was lead upstairs. He lit up a small fire, and before he knew it, he was lying on the ground, drifting in and out of consciousness. 

As minutes turned into hours, Sherlock didn’t feel the drug wearing off. In his frayed mind, he tried to wonder what his parents would think when he came back in the state he was in. “Mycroft’s going to kill me.” He mumbled, and with using the wall for support, slowly stood up. 

“Mate, be careful.” A slurred voice said from a cot to his left, “You took two more shots. You might need to stay the night.”

Sherlock stumbled to the exit, “I need to head home.” He said more to himself than to the person who spoke to him. He finally made his way to the stairs, and looked down, the staircase elongating and shortening as he blinked rapidly. Sherlock grabbed the railing, and focused on planting his foot on the first step. Once he did so, he went to put his other foot down, but missed it, and ended up tumbling down the stairs. He hit his head on the way down, and passed out on the bottom step.

“Sherlock?” A voice jarred him from his sleep, and he lazily opened his eyes, “Sherlock?” Sherlock thought he had heard that voice before. “Sherlock!” Footsteps rushed towards him, and Sherlock looked up to see his brother kneeling down. “William.” Mycroft said, his voice tight, “You stupid boy.” He spat, and slung one of Sherlock’s arm over his shoulder before lifting Sherlock on to his back, like he did when they were little. Sherlock wrapped his arms around Mycroft’s neck, his long legs crossed awkwardly around Mycroft’s waist. “You stupid little boy.” 

He walked Sherlock out. “I need to get you to the hospital.”

“No.” Sherlock shouted, “I’m fine,” He laid his head on Mycroft’s shoulder, still very much out of it, “I’ll sleep it off. Take me to your flat.”

Mycroft trudged through the streets, trying to call a cab, “No. Mother and Father need to know where you’ve been heading off to these past few months.”

“I can’t have them see me like this.” Sherlock mumbled into Mycroft’s neck. “Just let me sleep it off.”

“Sherlock. You need help.” Mycroft said angrily, “I’ve suspected this is where you’ve been running off to these past few months. You’re an addict Sherlock.”

“I’m a user Mycroft.” Sherlock spat, “I just go when I need to get away from it all.”

“William!” Mycroft said angrily as a cab pulled up, making Sherlock flinch, “That is how a coward acts. Last I checked, you are stupid, not a coward.” He slid Sherlock in before getting in himself. “St. Bart’s.” He told the cab driver, and they were off. “Show me your face.”

Sherlock curled up in the corner, “I want to go home. Not the hospital.”

“You don’t have a choice in the matter.” Mycroft said, “Now show me your face.” Sherlock didn’t move. “For god’s sake, stop being a baby, and show me your face!” He grabbed Sherlock by the chin, and Sherlock swung, connecting his fist with Mycroft’s nose. “Bastard!” Mycroft grabbed his nose, his hands coming away red.

“Don’t touch me when I’m high.” Sherlock curled back to look out the window. 

“You’ve ruined my suit!” Mycroft looked down at the blood dripping from his chin onto his shirt.

“It’s all about looks, isn’t it Mycroft?” Sherlock said in a condescending tone, “Have to make sure I look right, and if anyone of my family takes one foot out of line, off to the hospital for them.”

“You think I’m doing this because of myself?” Mycroft wiped under his nose, looking in distain at the blood on the back of his hand.

“It is obvious brother dear.” Sherlock closed his eyes.

“You are an idiot.” Mycroft breathed, “I’m doing this because it would break my heart to become an only child.” The cab stopped, “Sherlock, come on. Once we get inside and situated, I’m calling Mum.”

“You wouldn’t dare.” Sherlock said as Mycroft grabbed his arm and dragged him out.

“This is what happens Sherlock. You hurt the people who love you the most.” Mycroft and Sherlock trudged up the stairs, but Sherlock’s balance was failing him. As Mycroft opened the doors, Sherlock was just a limp rag doll, being dragged him.

Mycroft put him in a chair, and went to the desk. Sherlock could overhear his brother talking to the nurse. “Mycroft Holmes.”

“And the patient's name sir?”

“William Holmes. But he is called Sherlock by everyone.”

“What is the problem.” 

“I think he overdosed.”

“I’ll have a doctor dispatched to him right away sir. Is there anything else?”

“I need a phone.”

“Right this way sir.”

Sherlock’s eyes were drifting shut when someone opened them up and shined a light into them. Something wrapped around his arm, and then squeezed, causing discomfort. “We need a stretcher, now!” The man with the light called, “We need to pump this boy’s stomach.”

Sherlock felt himself being lifted, and then carried away, the last sight before he went into the hospital itself was Mycroft, writing in a notebook, his brow furrowed.

 

Sherlock woke up attached to wires, an IV in his arm. Off to his right, Mycroft was busy writing. Sherlock groaned as he resituated himself, and Mycroft looked up. “You’re up.” He said matter-of-factly.

“Where’s Mother and Father.”

“They’ll be here in the afternoon.” Mycroft shut his notebook, “Mother cried when the doctor told her what happened. I think Father did too.”

“But not Mycroft.” Sherlock rolled his eyes, “Not the big tough older brother.”

Mycroft stood and looked out the window, “Mother has decided to put you in a rehab center.”

“She can’t do that.” Sherlock sneered.

“She can and she did.” Mycroft spun around, “You almost died Sherlock. Are you really that unhappy?” Sherlock looked away. Mycroft sighed, “While you were asleep, Mother, Father and I came up with a code word for drugs. Once you are out of rehab, we will use it to remind you of this moment.” Mycroft opened his notebook and tore out a piece of paper, grabbing a tray, and put it down in front of Sherlock. 

“Nice black eye.” Sherlock smirked, making Mycroft give him the evil eye, “Why the paper?”

“You are going to write a list.”

“Of what?” Sherlock groaned as he pushed himself up some more.

“Of everything that you ever took that day.”

“I’m guessing it’s for the doctors?” Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

“It’s for me.” Mycroft said. “I want to help you.”

“You’ve never wanted to before.” Sherlock said suspiciously.

“You never asked.”

Sherlock scoffed, “What makes you think I’m asking now?” Mycroft held out a pen. After a moment, Sherlock took it, and uncapped it. “What’s the code word?”

“Redbeard.”

 


End file.
